


Brothers on an Endless Sea

by Sandentwins



Category: Taiyou no Ko Esteban | Les Mystérieuses Cités d'or | The Mysterious Cities of Gold
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Baby Esteban, Backstory, Gen, Sailing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 16:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19154341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandentwins/pseuds/Sandentwins
Summary: January, 1521. During his first journey across the Pacific Ocean, Mendoza rescues a newborn from a storm. Little does he know exactly how this child will change his life, and where this journey will lead the both of them.





	Brothers on an Endless Sea

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Frères d'une Mer Lointaine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21090878) by [Sandentwins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandentwins/pseuds/Sandentwins)



The baby was sound asleep, nestled in a makeshift crib made out of an old crate, carefully bundled in one of the few blankets that wasn't eaten to moths and fleas. The constant rocking of the ship on the now calm Pacific waters had quickly lulled it to sleep, as night was slowly falling over the endless blue of the horizon. Under the flickering light of the cabin's lantern, its tiny face had a slight golden glow to it, that only accentuated the soft roundness of its cheeks. It was hard to see under the blanket, but its pudgy little hands were firmly grasped around the strange golden jewel it carried around its neck.

Sitting nearby, Mendoza was finishing drying off, trying to ignore the shivers that'd still run over his skin chilled by the wind and saltwater. He's been fiddling with his shirt for a long moment now, instead of putting it on, for his mind was still heavy with thoughts. Everything had happened so fast, and now that things had calmed down a little, the emotions and doubts pushed away by adrenaline were coming back to him at full force.

A man had just died. Taken away by the waves and the storm, his ship broken and made to sink into the depths of the ocean, there was little to give his survival. And his face was still haunting Mendoza's thoughts in shock, for it was hard to forget such an encounter. That expression of fear, of sheer _panic_ that had deformed this man's traits, and the fright that had taken over his voice that called out in desperation. He could still hear it, still hear him calling for help, begging him in a language Mendoza didn't understand, but that was filled with terror at the approach of the ocean's dangers. 

Mendoza had reached for him, had tried to grab his arm, his waist, anything- and instead, a baby he hasn't even noticed had been put into his arms. And he had hesitated, he had been confused for a split second, where he hadn't moved before reaching for him again; and that split second had been the cause of everything. Maybe if he had acted better, he could have better grabbed on to that sailor, he could have gotten him to hold onto his lifeline. If he had swam quicker, he could have saved the both of them before the waves struck. He could have done _something..._ he could have saved this man's life, he could…

He could have…

...no. It had been way too dangerous out there, he couldn't have done anything even if he had had all the time in the world. Worse, he could have lost his own life trying to save another's; he could have let go of the baby, lost it to the cruel teeth of the ocean's waves. He could have compromised everything even further. It was useless to dwell on the past; what mattered was the present. There was still a chance the current had carried this man to the coast, that he'd survive the storm. It wasn't very likely, but Mendoza chose to stay optimistic. At least, himself wasn't hurt; and most important, the baby was safe.

The latter was starting to stir up, likely woken up by the splash of water against the ship's hull. Mendoza blinked, as if waking up as well, and finished putting on his clothes before leaning over the crib, gently shushing the tiny one to try to get it not to cry. The last thing this ship needed was wailing interrupting what little sleep her crew could get.

“Come on, now.”, he whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

It seemed to work, the kid staying quiet. Now that things were calm, Mendoza could afford to take a better look at this strange child. It looked barely older than a newborn, some thin brown hair already covering its small head. It was hard to say under the lantern's light, but it didn't look like it was a native of the New World. For a moment, Mendoza wondered what a lone sailor could have been doing sailing the seas with a baby this young: either that child has somehow been stolen from its family, either it was the only survivor of a leisure voyage gone wrong.

In either case, they now had an orphan on their hands.

He wasn't sure about the captain's stance on what to do. The most logical thing would be to leave this baby to whoever would take it, as soon as the ship comes to shore. But they have planned to cross the entire Pacific ocean in one go, and wouldn't stop before reaching the Philippines Islands on the other side. Even if the weather was conciliating enough, it would still mean a journey of several months, in no way suitable for a baby this young. What could they even feed it? He heavily doubted that dry meat or hardtack were anything suitable for a newborn. Maybe some of his crewmates that had children back home could figure out how to take care of it.

The baby moved again in its sleep, and the gleam of gold caught Mendoza's eye. He moved his head a little, and took another peek at that strange necklace it was carrying. A little golden moon, engraved with symbols he didn't understand; it was missing its centerpiece. But he knew where it was, and it happened to be in his possession.

Mendoza didn't know why he did it. Right after saving that child from the storm, as the ship was hoisting the two of them aboard, his eyes have caught the sight of the baby's golden pendant. Without he knew why, he had reached for it, and pulled the coin out of its socket. Maybe he didn't want the others to find out about it; maybe it has been out of greed. Gold was gold, after all, and he considered it legitimate payment for his heroic act. No one could judge him, if no one knew. 

He tossed the coin in his fingers, and it landed on the drawing table next to him with a little metallic noise. Picking it up, he could feel it had a strange texture, different from actual gold coins. It seemed way lighter, and definitely off in some way, but he wasn't sure which. Perhaps it could sell for a nifty price. He held it to the light, watched the way it flickered all over the metal, and for a moment he could have sworn the engravings had gotten brighter. But maybe it was his imagination; he was quite tired, after all. So he put it back in his pocket, where it would be safer than in sight of these greedy sailors. Which he was part of, to be fair. But he was _better_ of a greedy sailor than his crewmates, so this gave him some legitimacy. No one said he needed to be an honest man, after all.

“Get all the rest you can. It's going to be a difficult journey.”

He brought the blanket back over the baby's arms, and turned the lights off.

~~~~~ 

How difficult to think straight when hunger pangs at one's gut. Especially when thinking is required to assist the captain in navigation. But Mendoza tried to ignore this feeling, to stay focused on his task, and to not let himself down like so many others already have. He needs to be strong, if he wants one day to have his name go down in history. 

The sea is relatively calm, and the three ships have met very little difficulty in their ongoing course over the ocean. But aboard the hulls of degrading wood, morale has taken a sturdy blow over the weeks. The continuous sight of this endless blue, combined with reduced rations of poor quality, made for a very bitter crew that started to regret having come on this journey. The disease of the sea was looming over them like a Damocles' sword, and those who haven't been lost altogether to its greedy hands were weakened and fatigued. Even Mendoza had found himself to be coughing blood the other day; but to keep up his strong facade, he's refused to say anything about it. What would happen if _he_ were to show his weaker side? Probably little, but he knew it still made a difference. And that's what mattered.

His thoughts that he tried to keep clear were broken by a noise nearby. A cry, to be exact. Sitting next to him, a sailor was trying to feed the baby some of that gross-looking soup they've been reduced to cook out of sail leather and seawater. It tasted foul and likely had nothing good to offer, yet it gave their bellies the illusion of being full; but the child was having none of it, turning its head away from the spoon.

“Come on, now.”, the sailor sighed. “That's all we can give you, so if you don't eat, you'll have nothing at all.”

Mendoza watched for a moment as he tried to reason with a baby, which could have made for a comical scene if it weren't for the gruesome implications of it all. Of course a child this young wasn't made for the tough sailing life, where disease and starvation and shipwrecks and armed mutinies were more common than rewards. Everyone here understood that. But what could they do about it? None of the crew members could bear to watch this child fall victim to the same fate as all these friends whose bodies they've had to toss overboard. Yet none of them had the heart to end this baby's life while they could, even those who perfectly knew the gravity of the situation. Those who've had children have all done their best to keep the little one in good health, all in the name of hope. At least that's what they claimed; but Mendoza knew the truth. At the feeling of the sea below getting agitated again, he just _knew_.

He sighed, and stood from his contemplation, heading towards the poor sailor who's given up on trying to kick up this child's survival instincts. With a chuckle, he pat his shoulder.

“Hand him over. I'll get him to eat.”

The mate rose a brow, but felt more than happy to be rid of this burden. Mendoza took the kid in his arms, gently shushing his choked attempts at sobbing.

“Why, I know this ship is no high-end tavern, but you should lower your standards a bit, your little majesty.”

He pat his head, hoping that some warmth would comfort him. He usually liked being carried, since he spent all his time going from arm to arm. Even those who've never been parents could understand that leaving a three months-old baby all alone on a rocking, wave-shaken ship was a very bad idea. Plus, a bit of human warmth was always good for morale.

“I know you're hungry, kid. So am I. But that's just how things are. Soon we'll get to land, and we'll resupply on food, and it'll be better. Maybe we can even get you some milk.”

The baby sniffled, and looked up at him with eyes like liquid gold. It was like looking at a spring sunrise over the ocean. Adding to the strange moon around his neck, this trait only added to the mystery of that child's origins, that definitely had something mystical to it. 

“Here's what I offer. I can get you something, but only if you breathe no word of it to anyone. This stays between us, alright?” 

He checked no one was around, before sitting down, taking the child in his lap. Then, looking into his pocket, he pulled out a small branch of some green plant he's found back in the strait. Foreseeing the hardships of the following months, the crew had harvested as much of it as they could, providing them with some extra food that had now ran out. But Mendoza's saved a small stash of it just in case, and it seemed he's been right.

He snapped a small piece of that green stem, that started leaking out some juice. Carefully, he brought it to the baby's mouth, trying to get it to drink. The taste was much better than that of boiled sails, which made the muted sobs stop. He sighed of relief, holding the small one's head up and watching around for any onlookers.

Slowly, the baby's fingers curled up around his hand in a reflex. Mendoza blinked, looking down at it; and something in his expression must have looked funny, for these small cheeks smiled up in amusement. The hands grabbed tighter, and he didn't try to move away, for already the sea had calmed down somewhat. And indeed, looking up, the clouds were starting to part, leaving the sun's light to warm up the crew's bodies and souls alike. At the warm feeling that draped over his face, Mendoza couldn't hold back a small smile.

“I like you too, little guy. But don't tell anyone, I can't afford to have people know I can like things.”

The child cooed some more, and happily kept nibbling.

~~~~~ 

After long months of sailing, finally setting foot on land had felt like a relief nothing could surpass. How long has it been since any of them had eaten fresh fruit or seen even the shadow of a tree? The ships' visit to these small islands in the Philippines had meant to be short, just enough to resupply and repair, but the presence of natives had led the captain to extend their stay. And everything was going fine, for they've even gathered spices to trade and spread their message to these savage people. Everything was going well, until it suddenly didn't.

The smoke was slowly rising in the air, as the third, now vacant ship of the fleet was burning away into nothing. Even the dance of the flames couldn't bring Mendoza out of his thoughts. So much had happened, so fast...and now, everything was up to him. Everything, including the fate of their crew, was resting entirely on his shoulders alone. 

He's always wanted to become captain...but definitely not like this.

Sighing, he turned his eyes away from the burning ship, and made his way onto the lower deck, looking at the sea. The current plan was to go southwest and leave the archipelago after a last stop, all while trying to avoid Portuguese fleets that might have their settlements in the area. This seemed like the most reasonable choice; they couldn't afford to linger. This journey has already been tortuous enough, and he didn't want to risk mutiny. Yet the first whispers of dissent were already coming to his ears, if he were to believe his faithful shipmates. This ought to be a problem...hence he had to keep up his good facade and hoist their spirits somewhat. A mutiny was the last thing he needed.

Good thing they had a little ray of sunshine with them, then.

At first, the plan had been to leave the baby to whoever wanted to adopt it. The local people they've met on the islands have seemed like they wouldn't have minded keeping it. Then everything happened, and as everyone was suddenly overcome with basic survival instincts, it simply slipped their minds. But it seemed like the crew has gotten used to that small presence on board. 

If anything, it was good news. How a baby managed to survive where trained adults have perished was beyond comprehension, but it brought hope to those who could witness it. Even those who were never one for children would sometimes pop a smile when the kid was interested in them. And he seemed he was gone to try out everyone's arms by the end of the journey, although he did have favorites already. It's like this child knew who was best suited to play with him or carry him around the deck, for he was quite a playful one. The superstitious sailors have quickly noticed that this baby's smiles and laughter were key to ensuring a calm, sunny navigation, so keeping him entertained and happy was a key task. Especially when his cries were sure to bring out angry storms if they were to last, so everything was done to make sure they didn't. 

And right now, the baby was crying. Whoever was holding him right now got targeted with several angry glares, as he tried desperately to get him to stop. Mendoza rolled his eyes, and headed on over there to check what was going on. 

“You're holding him too rough. Be careful, he's not a sack of grain.”

The baby sobbed, and reached its tiny arms towards the captain, babbling some unclear syllables. To not anger the tiny one that commanded the weather, Mendoza very carefully took him in his arms, gently hushing his cries. 

“It's okay.”, he reassured. “It's okay. There's no reason to get grumpy, now.”

The baby sniffled, but at least he's stopped crying. Mendoza could just feel the looks he was getting, but decided to ignore them.

“Well, _hermanito_ seems to like you best, captain.”, one of the sailors noticed. “He never cries when he's with you.”

“One could almost swear he's your own.”

Ah, yes, that old joke. He took it with humor, chuckling and rolling his eyes. 

“That, my friends, is called skill. You should take some notes. Now, get going; the deck will not clean itself.”

That seemed to get them back on track. Ahead, the wind was rising, and the baby sneezed in that adorable manner of infants. Mendoza decided to bring him back inside before it got cold.

“You should rest for a while. Don't worry, you're not missing on anything. All days look alike, on the endless seas.”

He very carefully set him down on the cabin floor, and went to take a look at his map to check their course. The kid looked at him, seemingly contented with his presence right near to not cry, but started wriggling his tiny limbs around, flopping on his belly and squirming like a caterpillar. Mendoza watched with the corner of his eye, as he was trying to crawl his way like an awkward worm, and almost succeeded in doing so; but his frustration with failure brought forth another string of hiccuped sobs, that Mendoza cut off before they started by picking him up. 

“Alright, you win, little rascal. You know, you'll never learn to walk if you insist on being picked up.”

Which maybe was for the best. The last thing he needed was to panic when the kid was out of sight, and send the whole crew to look for him. It would be a funny thought, if it weren't dangerous to even envision.

Yet the tiny one didn't mind, and happily nestled in Mendoza's arm. The latter sighed, and put him on his lap so he could sit while holding him.

“I swear. You definitely are something.”

“Aaaa.”

“Precisely.”

The child just kept babbling, happy with just being there, where it was warm and cozy. His hands wrapped around the pendant at his neck, that he contemplated for a moment before trying once more to chew on it. Mendoza's long since given up on getting him to stop, so if he hurt himself, it'd be his fault. 

"...you know, it's been a while since anyone's ever sat down where you are. You're quite lucky.”

The kid looked up at him, blinking. A second later, Mendoza's chin was being thoroughly papped by a curious hand, still coated in baby drool. Ah, yes. It's also been a while since he's been drooled on, but honestly he would rather have forgotten that.

“ _Hermanito_ , stop that, please.”

He did, although not right away. Mendoza had to give him an old quill to get his attention and hands elsewhere, while being careful that the kid didn't stab his eye with it. And while he wasn't in the mood for laughter, such childish innocence made him smile.

He knew he shouldn't have to get attached. None of them should. And yet they all did, all overcome with fondness for this “little brother” they've more or less adopted. Even the former captain had enjoyed this baby's presence on board, if only for his strange influence over the sun. Perhaps it was why no one's given him a name yet, for he maybe already had one no one knew. Whoever would adopt him for good would give him a name, too. It sure wouldn't be him, he knew that for sure.

Well, if he had to be honest, he's thought about it. That child definitely had potential. But Mendoza was a navigator, an explorer at his core, and he did not want to compromise this child's life like it's already been several times. He didn't want to have to marry and give him a mother, for he was the kind to prefer a good crew's company to household matters. Plus, no one said he'd even see the end of this journey alive. 

But the main reason was simply that he wasn't ready yet. He wasn't ready to take care of a small being, of having to raise him almost on his own, of having to look out for someone else.

Not again.

By the time he was done, the child had fallen asleep. His hands were curled around the makeshift toy, like it was a treasure he didn't want to part from. Carefully standing up, he brought him to his crib, tucking him in. 

“Sleep well...little one.”

Only a quiet breath answered him. Mendoza stayed for a moment to watch his sleepy form, before breaking from nostalgic memories and heading out.

~~~~~ 

He's always wanted to become a sailor, since his youngest years. The sight of ships leaving port, the celebrations of those who came back, the tales of treasures and riches awaiting beyond the ocean had fueled his imagination with promises that he swore to keep. It was a dream now come true, a dream he thought would make him happy. But only now could he see the truth that lied underneath. 

It's now been about two years since the fleet has left Spain. Some have long since lost hope of ever seeing the shores of Sanlúcar again, for many have lost that chance for good over the last months. Days upon days of endless blue have drained everyone's hopes, and no amount of promises and reassurance could get the crew to calm their tempers. The only thing that ensured no mutiny could take place, was that they were so few in numbers that everyone was occupied at all times, busy manning the last ship left. They've had to part with half of their crew back in the Moluccas, and there was no knowing what had since happened to them. Everyone needed to hold together and fight through it, if they wanted their chance to see home again. Everyone had to lend a hand.

Everyone. Including the young toddler currently busy “cleaning” the deck, by pouring saltwater over the floor. 

The crew's favorite _hermanito_ was still quite healthy, given his hazardous upbringing. He was about one year old now, and luckily his learning to walk has been less of a problem than Mendoza feared. While he was still more interested in playing with whatever could serve as a toy, he was getting quite curious about the things around him. He knew from observation what a bucket, a coil of rope, a spoon were used for; he'd point to the sails whenever there was wind, to the lower deck when he was hungry, and always waved goodbye to the sun when it was setting. He wasn't a very good talker yet, but he could understand what was said to him in both Catalan and Spanish, as long as it was simple. And he loved to mimic the crew's actions, even if most of what he did was falling on his butt and holding onto things. He was a happy little fellow, whose cheerful smile more than once brought them out of gloomy moods. Perhaps this was what they needed most, more even than fresh food or a sense of purpose.

And as he'd grow, as he'd start to learn to walk, to babble, to do adorable little toddler things, Mendoza would start to remember. Sometimes when he laid eyes on this kid, he'd briefly recall what it was like, and what everything could have been. But it'd never last long, and he'd remember it wasn't the same kid, that this one was the journey's mascot, the crew's nameless little brother, a sunbeam sent to cheer and hoist the souls of depressed sailors. A child lucky enough to have survived his first year on the high seas, in such a way that it could only be a miracle of sorts. 

When they return to Spain, they'll have to find him a family. They've never promised this child anything, especially not staying with them; once the crew disbands, their makeshift brotherhood will be no more. It was best to give him away before he gets attached, and while he's still too young to remember anything of them. 

It's best he forgets it all. And the kid should do so as well.

A tug on his cape woke Mendoza from his observation of the sea. Looking down, he saw the _hermanito_ was in need for attention, once again. 

“What can I do for you, today?”, he asked in a way so formal it almost sounded funny.

The kid pointed to the sea ahead of them. Understanding, Mendoza picked him up, wondering how he could have gotten heavier with so little food, and gently sat him down on the ship's railing, holding tight onto him. From there, he could get a better view of the water, the waves, the horizon; and it never failed to make him giggle and clap his tiny hands. Mendoza smiled, making sure he wouldn't fall. Should this journey stretch in time, this kid could very well become a shipmate, since he already had a sailor's passion for the open blue. 

A wave stroked the ocean, sending seafoam splashing against the hull. The child clapped some more, pointing down to the water.

“ _Onda, onda!_ ”, he happily exclaimed.

“Yes, it's a wave. A small one. This ocean is quite calm, we've yet to see any danger.”

“Plash. Plash plash!”

“That's the sound they make, yes. Waves splash.”

He made a splashing noise with his mouth, that the kid appreciated. He stared at the ocean some more, his golden eyes frequently drawn to the tiniest wave, fish or bird they could catch. Such a curious little baby, always eager to know more about things.

“ _Hermanito_.”

The kid turned his head. Nameless as he was, he believed “little brother” was his name. He also had the habit of calling everyone “big brother”, for it was what most of the crew would respond to. That, or maybe learning all their names was confusing, especially since sailors seemed to mysteriously disappear some more every day. 

It truly was sad to think about. Mendoza tried to ignore that feeling, instead focusing on the present. On enjoying the child's presence and cheer, and keeping their innocence which in turn would only bring good things. It was something they all lacked yet needed, something he couldn't bring them. Whoever would adopt this child would be the luckiest family in all of Spain. 

They just had to make it out alive. They had to pull through this, and be determined to live. Only then could he be safe.

~~~~~ 

In September 1519, nearly three hundred men aboard five ships have left Spain towards the New World. And now, almost exactly three years later, eighteen men and one child have come back from the first successful world tour. 

Even in the general cheer and celebration from crew and townspeople alike couldn't help the fact this trip had been a massive disaster. The human and financial lost was just too great, and none of the goods brought back from the journey could make up for it. Clearly, it was best for Mendoza to not linger in Seville. The last thing he needed was to be blamed, when all he did was trying to keep everyone alive. 

As he's thought, no one among the survivors was in condition to keep the _hermanito_ with them. And even if they did, the latter wasn't ready to let go of Mendoza's hand so easily. Perhaps all this over-protectiveness Mendoza had shown him has designated him as the one father figure out of all the remaining crew members. 

But Mendoza couldn't afford to keep this child with him. As much as he's grown to love this little sunbean, he had neither the means nor energy to raise a child. As the last standing ship was approaching the Spanish coast and the journey coming to a close, he's thought it out and made up his mind. And it was a difficult choice to make, but it was the best one for the kid. 

Barcelona was far enough from Seville that no one would think of finding him here. The child already could understand Catalan, it wouldn't be too hard for him. It was a great town, with lots of possibilities, he knew so from having spent some of his youth there. He knew the _hermanito_ would find what he needed there. 

That day, they simply walked in town. The child, on top of his two years old, was already an excited little one that could easily run around. But he listened to what his big brother would say, and obediently held hands as they made their way through the sunny streets of town.

“'mano, where we go?”, he would ask. “Ship?”

“We're not going on a ship for now.”, he would reply. “We're having some fun.”

And he'd take his attention on all sorts of little things, like flowers growing through stone pavement, colorful clothing hanging between houses, birds flying from roof to roof. It was the first time he's ever seen many of these things, and he was as excited as could be. Which of course, led to him getting very sleepy come evening, once all of that energy had been used.

“Worry not, kid.”, Mendoza reassured. “Here, let me carry you. Tonight, you'll have a warm bed to sleep in. Tomorrow, you'll have food to eat. And long after that, you won't have to worry about anything.”

The child didn't worry, trusting Mendoza as he was being carried through the streets lit by the vibrant lights of dusk. And Mendoza's own worries were trying to find their resolution, as he was convincing himself by all means that he was doing the right thing. After some wandering, he finally reached a place he thought suitable enough.

The heavy wooden door echoed out when he knocked on it. Soon after, an old monk answered, and let him in.

It took some time. It took many explanations. It took fighting off a lot of skepticism. But by the time night had finished falling, Mendoza had managed to secure the child's future. 

“What you're asking of me is very daring, Captain Mendoza.”, Father Rodriguez slowly spoke. “But I shall attend to it. This child looks like he needs support.”

“Trust me. I have seen what he's able to do. Whoever adopts this little one will be the luckiest in all of the Old World.”

His confidence is maybe what pushed Father Rodriguez to accept his demand. Still holding onto him, the _hermanito_ mumbled something in his sleep, shuffling about. With a heavy heart but determined mind, Mendoza handed him over to the old priest, who gently whispered his dreams back to calm.

“He _is_ quite a boy, indeed.”, he chuckled. 

Then, blinking, he looked at Mendoza again.

“By the way, what name did you give him, if I may ask?”

Mendoza opened his mouth to reply, but his words got stuck in his throat. Silent, he looked at the sleeping child, deep in thought.

It was hard to say he didn't grow some attachment to this little sunbean. It was definitely impossible to say he hadn't brought him cheer and smiles when everything was going down. This child of miracles, saved from death at the hands of a cruel sea, who in turn saved them from so many storms by his joy alone. This little brother who gave them so much without knowing it.

In Mendoza's pocket, the tiny sun-emblazoned coin was weighing heavy with guilt more than metal. He's thought of giving it back, since he wouldn't have anything to do with that child's life. But instead, the thought had recently come to him that he should give him something in return. 

Maybe it was how he would be able to move on.

"...Esteban.”, he spoke after a time. “His name is Esteban.”

His heart beat faster at the evocation of that name, that he hadn't spoken in years. But Father Rodriguez didn't notice it, and after a few words, Mendoza bid him goodbye.

Outside, the night was bathing everything in pale darkness, only broken by the few lights of shops and taverns. He took a deep breath of fresh city air, and grabbed the coin from his pocket, looking at it for a moment. 

“I could either lay low for a few days.”, he said to himself. “Or I could depart for a new travel.”

Only one face of the coin had engravings. Balancing it on his thumb, he tossed it high in the air, and caught it in hand: the engraved face caught the light of the moon over its jagged patterns.

Mendoza smiled.

“Towards adventure, then.”

And, putting it back in his pocket, he made his way down to the harbor.

~~~~~ 

_“Come on, faster!”, Carlos cheered. “We're going to miss it!”_

_“Wait for me!”_

_The younger boy's pleas barely caught up to the elder as he was running through the streets, easily making his way through crowds and tight alleys and causing outraged uproar from adults. He knew he shouldn't leave Esteban behind, but today was a big day! He'd never miss it for anything in the world!_

_“Carlos, wait for me!!”_

_He didn't feel like waiting, but nonetheless stopped his eager run, letting the seven year-old catch up with panting breath._

_“You're going too fast for me!”, he complained. “Tia said you had to hold my hand!”_

_“What tells you you're not the one who's too slow?”, the twelve year-old snickered._

_Esteban puffed his little face in anger, and shoved him with his elbow, to what Carlos only sneered more._

_“Oh, come on! We're almost there. You can make it.”_

_“We shouldn't go that far. Tia said the port's full of nasty people.”_

_“Well, Tia's not here, so if you don't follow me you can go home on your own.”_

_But he didn't want to make his brother cry, so he offered his hand this time. Esteban eagerly held onto it, and the two of them kept running towards the port, where everyone was gathered to celebrate the ship's departure._

_They easily made their way up some barrels, from where they could have a better view of the people, the sea, and the impressive vessels that stood out like mastodons of wood and rope. There was music, there was cheering, and the whole town had gathered out to watch these brave sailors leave for their years-long voyage. Carlos cheered along, his voice but a background note in the unceasing calls of all these bystanders, but he still felt like it made a difference._

_Next to him, Esteban was watching with apprehension, but the general mood seemed to get to him little by little. And when the white sails got down, he added his own voice as well to the encouragements, even though it was quite shy of a call. But Carlos could hear it, and it did make a difference to him._

_Finally, the ships left port, and with them the hopes and dreams of Barcelona that they'd carry to lands yet unknown. Carlos watched them leave, his own heart overcome with thoughts of distant countries, hidden treasures and exciting adventures; it was hard to hide just what he felt about the prospective of such promises._

_“When I grow up, I'll be a sailor.”, he claimed proudly. “I'll explore the world, and become rich!”_

_Esteban chuckled, sitting up on the barrels._

_“You can't be a sailor. You've never set foot on a boat!”_

_“Well, I kinda forgot. But I can learn! Just a couple years, and I'll be old enough to join a crew. I'll learn the ropes, I'll become the best there is!”_

_He stood up like a tower, chest proudly forward._

_“I'll be the head of my own armada! Captain Juan Carlos Mendoza, leading a fleet of ten thousand men!”_

_“No fleet's that big!!”_

_“Mine will be!!”_

_He laughed, and picked up an excited Esteban in his arms._

_“And you'll be my second in command! Commander Esteban Ricardo Mendoza, a name feared by all enemies! Slayer of pirates and Moors, the terror of the Mediterranean!”_

_“Stop being silly!”, Esteban laughed, squirming to be put down. “If you're captain, then I'll be captain too!”_

_“Well, I will need someone to help me man my second ship. Alright then, Junior Captain.”_

_He ruffled his brother's hair, making the curls all messy again. Esteban kept chortling, before his eyes fell on the sea again with contemplation._

_"...we'll explore the world.”, he said, almost dreamily._

_“We will. I promise.”_

_“You do?”_

_Carlos nodded, and held out a hand._

_“I promise, hermanito. One day, we'll get out of here.”_

_Esteban smiled, and eagerly shook on it. It was a promise, then._

_One day, Carlos thought. One day, he'd show Esteban what the world out there was like. One day, they'd see the legendary Cities of Gold with their own eyes._

_One day, he'd get out of here._

**Author's Note:**

> I have planned this drabble to be much shorter at first; but reading up some Wikipedia, it appears Esteban would have spent a couple years with the expedition before returning to Spain, and I couldn't not explore that in more depth.


End file.
